


teeter totter

by interstellar_silence



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Blood, Physical Abuse, Smooching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellar_silence/pseuds/interstellar_silence
Summary: It's not long into their new-relationship-bliss before Eric and Adam are brought back down to reality. But, that's not to say that reality doesn't have room for tender moments.Takes place right after the season 2 finale.
Relationships: Eric Effiong/Adam Groff
Comments: 6
Kudos: 168





	teeter totter

**Author's Note:**

> The physical abuse tag is for a single moment, towards the beginning. The blood mention is in the same moment.

They did talk that night, as Adam walked Eric home from the musical. It wasn’t exactly like those nights spent smashing chipped china sets in the junk yard, when they only talked about the most superficial things, never bringing up what they might be to each other in the daylight. Still, it was still lighthearted, Eric talking about the build up to the musical and how Lily would probably be out for Adam’s head, if not his father’s. 

Adam smiled a lot. That was new, the way Eric made him smile like no one else ever had. He felt giddy. He still couldn’t believe it, that he really had run onto the stage and asked Eric to take his hand. And that Eric had taken it, wearing that shy smile. Adam felt like he was walking on clouds the entire way to the Effiong household. 

Eric and Adam’s hands, clutched together, were perfectly warm in the rapidly cooling evening.

“My mum was serious you know,” Eric said, turning to Adam as they came to a stop in front of his house, “about making you dinner. Maybe tomorrow even, if you’re free.” His eyes shown wide and dark and hopeful in the street lamps clicking on, the last bits of sun illuminating the clouds behind him steel blue and gold. 

“That sounds good,” Adam replied, his resting smile stretching wider before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eric’s lips.

They exchanged phone numbers, finally, and Adam departed with hope for tomorrow nestled in his chest. 

His walk home was less dreamlike but still so light that the realization that his father was in the house was a sudden lead weight in his stomach. Adam stood at the front door with his forehead resting gently on the wood, listening to his father’s muffled voice talking over his mother’s. He worked up his nerve and opened the door as quietly as he could, padded over to the entryway of the sitting room, sliding along the wall so he could remain just out of sight. He could hear his father pacing the carpeted floor, the breath he drew in deep to continue his ranting.

“That Milburn woman, I can’t _believe_ you would listen to her, and that everyone would get wrapped up in her manipulation. And that Tarrington woman, to call me out in front of _my_ school. She’s been against me since the second she stepped foot on school grounds and this is just an opportunity for her to undermine me. To think that all the students saw my authority torn down by her, _christ_.

“And as if _that_ wasn’t embarrassing enough--” he sputtered, suddenly cut off by Madam appearing from the kitchen to bark belatedly at Adam’s return. He quickly recovered, hands on his hips as Adam gave up his blown cover and shuffled into the doorway, and began his rant afresh at his new target. “--this one decided that he hadn’t ruined my reputation enough. He comes bursting into the auditorium to embarrass himself in front of the entire student body and their parents.” Adam felt his face flame, titled towards the floor as it was. 

“I didn’t embarrass myself,” he retorted in a low voice. His father’s momentum blew past Adam’s reply. 

“Then explain, please, what kind of prank you were pulling, declaring your apparent homosexuality for the audience? Do you care so little for my reputation--”

“Yes,” Adam interrupted. It was a white lie, of sorts, because his father and his father’s reputation were about the furthest things from his mind when he was making his way to Eric. He had barely registered he was at the school as he climbed onto the stage, his legs shaking beneath him from exertion and nerves, his lungs quaking in his chest as he gathered enough breath to call out. His urgency to reach Eric and let him know that he finally understood what it meant to hold his hand, that he not only wanted to but was able, were all that occupied his burning mind and body. 

But how could he explain months of self-realization coming to a head, coherently, to his father that seemed to be in the house only to have someone to scream at?

It was over fairly quickly after that. Adam turned his head slightly at his mother’s gasp to his interruption and in the second that his eyes were peering over his father’s shoulder, seeking her stricken face, his father’s fist was making its way to the corner of his mouth. 

Adam’s lips crushed between knuckles and teeth and then split, gushing blood into his mouth and onto his shirt. He fell to a knee and slapped his hands over his bleeding mouth, aware of the dripping through his fingers and onto the cream-colored carpet. Madam yelped in distress at the sudden movement, stepping back with frenzied tail wagging. A feeling of childishness overtook Adam, and upon prodding the sensation, he realized that his father had not hit him with a closed fist since he was around fourteen, right before a growth spurt took his height past his father’s chin and left him tall enough to get in his father’s face. 

_'This_ is embarrassing,' he wanted to tell his father, that he was seventeen and almost as tall as the man who could still reduce him to a child kneeling on the floor, holding back tears and silently hoping that the blow wouldn’t be followed by another. 

And then his mother was shoving at Adam’s father with both hands, screeching like Adam had never heard her before, drowning out whatever protest his father was making with a refrain of “get out” with Adam looking on, wide-eyed. 

She shoved him all the way to the door, slamming and latching it behind him. She stood there with her palms pressed to the door, breathing heavily for a minute or two before turning to her son, still kneeling on the floor watching her, her dog nuzzling at his knee. She padded over in her stocking feet, bent her knees slightly to cup a hand under his elbow and coax him into standing, and led him silently to the kitchen. She instructed Adam to spit the blood into the sink as she poured him a glass of water to rinse with. She had him show her his teeth-- all accounted for. She wet a tea towel and brushed away the blood caking his chin and neck. She folded it and told him to hold pressure on his still-bleeding mouth until it stopped, and then she handed him another tea towel, bundled around ice cubes, and led him to the dining table to take a seat. 

If Adam tried, he could probably recall hundreds of hours spent in this room, sitting in silence. The silences before and after his father’s outbursts. Sunday dinners. The silence of having absolutely nothing to say to either of his parents and them not asking. His mother could probably recall even more, the silence of sitting alone here and waiting. She couldn’t seem to bear the silence at this particular moment. Usually if Adam sat still for more than a few minutes his leg would get to jumping. Not unlike now, where his mother was practically vibrating out of her skin. 

“Adam, sweetheart,” she was putting as much earnestness as humanly possible into her face, “are you gay?” He blinked back at her, mouth conveniently blocked by the ice pack. He hadn’t thought about having this conversation, even in the abstract. Adam suddenly felt completely exhausted. He had spent all day being brave just to be suckerpunched by his father and now he was somehow discussing his sexuality with his mother. 

He could, he realized, just get up and walk away. Go upstairs and throw himself onto his bed or walk back out the door he came into not twenty minutes ago. But this was his mother and she had just bodily shoved his father out of the house for punching him. He could tug on one last thread of bravery for her.

Adam pulled the ice away from his face. 

“No.” He winced internally, tugged harder at the thread. “I’m bisexual.” His mother’s eyebrows flew up in surprise and her mouth quirked oddly. 

“Oh. Adam, that’s-” she trailed off briefly and Adam found himself bracing for the worst. What would he do if she also was not fond of his revelation? He remembered sitting in the backseat of the car while his father made clear that he was waiting for the chance to kick Adam out of the house, and how she hadn’t said a word, didn’t even meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. Could this be the final blow to his mother’s seemingly infinite patience with him?

“Adam, that’s wonderful,” she concluded while grabbing his free hand. He flinched but she held on, the odd quirk in her mouth turning into a gentle smile. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Adam nodded, not interested in seeing how a smile would feel on his wounded mouth. He returned the ice pack to its place and they sat like that, his mom’s hands resting on his one, until the ice began to melt and run down his arm, pooling at his elbow resting on the wood of the table. 

He laid in bed staring at Eric’s contact on his phone, deliberating how to phrase “I know I’ve just managed to scrape into earning a crumb of your trust, but I need to flake on the very first plans we’ve ever made because I don't want my face to freak you out and make your parents think I'm some fight starting weirdo, which I am, but am trying not to be,” when a text from Eric came through. He dropped his phone nearly on his face and had to fumble between his neck and shoulder to get it back in his grasp. 

_6 tomorrow for dinner ok? Goodnight_ , Eric had texted, followed by a dozen heart and smiley face emojis. Butterflies bloomed in Adam's stomach. He was touched to receive the message, so simple and so sweet but making him feel so shitty in anticipation of his own text. 

_i can't do dinner tomorrow actually. can we do next week instead_

Eric took a few minutes to respond and when he did it was just "k". Adam smacked himself in the forehead and turned over in bed. He knew when he was in the shit. 

* * *

It was almost comical, Eric thought, to be losing sleep over Adam Groff yet again. Eric huffed out a frustrated breath, turned over and continued staring at the message. He felt so _stupid_. But he also didn’t want to be uncharitable. Maybe something was wrong, and Adam just needed time to deal with it.

 _Or maybe he’s decided you’re not worth it after all._ That thought especially stung. Eric knew he was worth it. Even if Adam did have something going on, he could just be upfront about it. 

So, at 2 a.m., Eric sent two new texts.

_you know what actually, not ok. if somethings going on then fine we can talk about that later, but if this is a shame thing then im not doing that_

_like just be straight up with me_

And then, finally he went to sleep. 

After pouting his way through a late breakfast, Eric swiped his phone open to a series of texts from Adam:

_its not a shame thing_

_can i come see u at 2_

_so i can explain_

That lifted Eric’s mood immediately, that it wasn’t a shame thing. And, that he’d be able to see Adam, at least, even earlier than previously planned. There remained a tickle at the back of his mind, about how Adam couldn’t or wouldn’t explain over text or a call. But then again, Adam was hardly talkative in person and Eric wouldn’t expect him to be over phone either. And Adam still wanted to see him! How could that be a bad sign?

So Eric spent the next couple of hours watching makeup tutorials on youtube and scrolling through instagram. He was watching one of those disgusting videos where they stuff unseasoned chicken breast and cheese and whatever else into pizza dough when Adam finally texted him. 

_come outside_

Eric sprang out of bed and stuffed his phone and keys into his pockets. He ran down the stairs while calling out: “Mum I’m going out!” Her response, unintelligible over the sound of his two youngest sisters arguing, sounded at least positive in tone. Eric paused long enough to get his shoes on and tied. And then he was out the door. 

Adam was at the end of the walkway, aggressively smoking a cigarette and staring down the road. The weather was colder than the day before, completely overcast and seemingly promising some rain. The nylon of Eric’s windbreaker whished with every swing of his arms as he strode up the mild incline. His smile widened with every step.

“Adam!’ he called out when he was more than half the way there. Adam dropped his cigarette butt and stamped a foot down on top of it. He turned and cracked a smile at Eric.

And Eric’s heart dropped into his stomach. He felt his face go slack in shock and watched Adam’s smile falter in response. 

“It looks pretty bad, yeah,” he said lowly as Eric got near enough to hear him. This was an understatement. Maybe it was that Eric wasn’t exactly used to seeing bruises, especially on skin as pale as Adam’s, but he thought these looked horrible. They covered almost half his mouth and some of his cheek, deep purple and edged in red. Both his lips were split, in a perfect line but off-center in the mass of bruising. After a half minute of Eric’s staring, Adam decided it was enough and turned to look back out at the road. “D’you wanna take a walk?” he asked, jerking his chin in the direction he was staring. 

Eric stepped closer, reaching his hand out for Adam’s. Adam grabbed on immediately and they began strolling. 

The walk was silent aside from their footsteps, the leaves rustling in the shrubs they brushed past, the occasional passerby chatting on their phone or walking their dog. They found their way to a playground, occupied only by a pair of children occupying the swingset. Adam watched them swing for a second before releasing Eric’s hand. 

“The seesaw, then?” he asked, already walking towards it. Eric huffed a laugh before following. Getting on took a fair bit more maneuvering than Eric remembered it taking as a child, but once they were on it was easy enough to teeter back and forth. And they did, for a bit, until their laughter petered out. Adam paused on pushing back up, feet planted and knees bent.

“I didn’t want you to have to see this,” Adam began, gesturing vaguely at his face, and pushed off. He continued when he landed again. “I didn’t want to flake either, though. I’m sorry. I just--” He cut himself off with a shrug and pushed off. 

“You don’t have to apologize, I didn’t mean…” Eric, landed, redirected his thoughts with a shake of his head. “Adam, are you ok? Like, what happened?” He paused there on the ground, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking up at Adam with a deep furrow between his brows. Adam looked away to his left, obscuring most of the bruising with the turn of his face, and shrugged as he answered.

“My dad was there when I got home yesterday. I guess he got fired or suspended or whatever so he was pissed. And then I guess I pissed him off more.” Adam snuck a glance at Eric’s face, and continued in an attempt to appease his stricken expression. “If he was looking for a fight he didn’t really get one. He just punched me and left.” It didn’t work. Eric worked his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but it still took a minute. 

“And this is why you said you couldn’t come to dinner? ‘Cause you need time to like, deal with this?” He managed to ask. Adam turned back, a confused look on his face.

“Deal with what?”

“Like,” Eric’s hands flapped about a bit, “with how you’re feeling and all that.” He pushed off and Adam caught himself on the ground, still looking confused.

“I mean I’m sore but there’s nothing I can really do about that.” It was Eric’s turn to look confused. 

“Nah I mean like your emotional state.” Adam quirked an eyebrow. “Like, your feelings?” The eyebrow stayed quirked. Eric quirked his own. “Didn’t you want some time to deal with your feelings about being hit?” 

“No,” Adam said slowly, “I just didn’t want to freak you out. With my face.” He pushed off and continued when he landed again. “Or your parents. I didn’t want them to think-” he had the good grace to wince, here, “- that I go around picking fights. Still, you know.”

Eric paused at the bottom.

“Look, you don’t have to worry about them judging you. Or about freaking me out. Even though yeah, I’m kind of freaking out.” He pushed off and continued from his peak. “But be honest with me, you can’t really mean that you’re not upset about being hit.” 

“I’m not.” Adam pushed off roughly enough that Eric’s feet jarred against the ground. Adam was looking away again. “It happens. It’s fine.”

Eric planted his feet, he didn’t want what he was saying to be lost in the creaking of the seesaw. He straightened his legs out so they were more or less both standing on the ground. 

“Just because it ‘happens’ doesn’t mean you have to be ok with it. Adam?” Eric blew a sigh through his nose. “Please look at me.” Adam finally turned his face back to Eric, eyes half lidded and mouth pulled to the side. “It’s not normal for your dad to hit you.” 

Adam rolled his eyes and scoffed, standing up off the seesaw but holding his side steady to keep Eric’s balance. He waited until Eric climbed off to let go.

“Maybe not for you. But…” Adam shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugged, not having an end for his sentence. He looked small standing there. Not compared to the seesaw, which was so clearly built for children much smaller than them, but definitely compared to the way Eric used to see Adam. They couldn’t actually be that far apart in height, Eric suddenly realized. 

He quickly strode the few steps to Adam, stopping when they were toe to toe. Looking him dead in his eyes, Eric raised his hand slowly to cup the hurt side of Adam’s face. Eric slid his hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and tilted Adam’s head down until he was close enough to kiss. It wasn't too far a distance. Eric laid one kiss, feather light, over the bruised side. He could hear that Adam was holding his breath. He laid another kiss, firmer on the other side. Adam inhaled sharply and turned his head into the kiss, pulling Eric in by the front of his windbreaker. He opened his mouth into the kiss and Eric immediately reciprocated, lightly moaning and running his nails along Adam’s scalp, feeling the shiver run through Adam’s body. They managed a good few minutes of this until Eric caught his bottom lip wrong and Adam pulled away with a hiss. 

“Sorry!” Eric brought both hands up to cradle Adam’s jaw. Adam’s eyes flitted over his face, taking in Eric’s worried eyes, the crease between his eyebrows, the pull of his wet lips into an tense frown. He didn’t like this look on Eric’s face.

“S’okay. Look, next time, I’ll just tell you what happened.” Eric’s face got sadder. He let go of Adam’s face and snagged his hand to lead him to the now empty swings. Eric nudged Adam into sitting while he continued standing between Adam's knees, still holding his hand. He took a deep breath.

“I want to tell you something,” he began, holding Adam’s gaze until he nodded. “Do you remember this past year, a couple days after my birthday, when you asked me if I ‘woke up straight’?” Adam grimaced at the memory and nodded again, slowly. “Right, so on my birthday, Otis and I were supposed to go see this movie in another town, and we go in fancy dress, like, drag.” He paused to take another breath. And another, losing himself in the memory briefly. Adam gave his hand a squeeze. 

“Which movie?” Eric blinked at him. “Which movie were you gonna see?” Eric cleared his throat. 

“Um, _Hedwig and the Angry Inch_. It’s a musical,” he said in a rough voice.

“Is it sad?” 

“Yeah,” Eric huffed a laugh, “a bit yeah.” He shook his head and continued. “So I’m in drag, wig and miniskirt and everything and Otis is too, but the idiot misses the bus and I end up riding alone. And once I’m at the other station, he calls me to tell me that he’s coming even later. And I’m pissed off at this point so I’m just like whatever, I don’t feel like it anymore and I decide to go home. But someone lifts my jacket, with my wallet and phone in it, and no one even stops to help me look for it. So I had to walk home. And, when I was walking,” he stopped to swallow and blink back tears. “I was walking and these guys pulled up, hollering at me, and when they realized I wasn’t. Wasn’t a woman, one of them came after me and punched me out. Spat on me.” He grabbed onto Adam’s hand with his other hand as well and began running his thumb across Adam’s knuckles. He did this for a minute, eyes tracking his thumb’s progress back and forth. He breathed until the clenching in his chest loosened a bit. “And I started dressing like _that_ , for the next couple days. I flipped out on Mr. Hendricks. I punched Anwar too, actually. I don’t know if you heard. I was barely sleeping, even.” He looked Adam in the eyes, then. “I wasn’t dealing with it. I was hurt, and I was scared, and I was so _tired_ of feeling like no one cared about what I was going through. And none of that stuff made me feel better ‘cause it didn’t change what happened. I didn’t even want to _think_ about what happened. But what did make me feel better was _actually_ taking care of myself, and other people taking care of me. Actually acknowledging my feelings instead of changing the things I felt like I had control over. 

“D’you get what I mean?” Adam was squinting like he was trying to figure something out.

“So you were,” he squinted harder, pronouncing the word carefully, “gaybashed? And I made fun of you for it like, immediately afterwards.” Eric resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He appreciated Adam’s new found capacity for empathy, and concern for Eric’s wellbeing, but he couldn’t help but think that Adam was still avoiding the topic at hand. 

“Ok, yeah, but that’s not really the point--”

“It kind of feels like it should be the point.” Adam interjected.

“Look, I didn’t tell you this to make you feel guilty. What I’m _trying_ to say is that I think you’re pretending to be fine when this is actually a really fucked up situation and I think you see that.” Eric said and then let out a sigh of frustration. Adam let out his own sigh, deflating slightly. Even this minimal disagreement was making him somewhat nauseous. He wanted it to be over.

“That was your first time being hit like that, though. Right? This isn’t my first time getting punched. It’s different. So we can let it go, yeah?” Adam could feel his leg bouncing as he tapped his heel unconsciously. He resisted the urge to groan as the frown returned to Eric’s face. Eric let go off Adam’s hand and crossed his arms. 

“So you’re saying that if that guy found me again, and punched me, again, then I would actually be completely fine?” Eric asked with an arched eyebrow. Adam frowned in response. 

“No, I’m saying--”

“And if he punched me everyday, then that would be a totally fine and cool thing, ‘cause I would just get used to it?” Eric continued.

“ _No_ , I’m _saying_ ,” Adam stood up and Eric had to step back a bit, “it’s not some random wanker doing this, it’s my _dad_.”

“And _I’m_ saying,” Eric placed a hand on his chest for emphasis, “that your dad shouldn’t be treating you like some ‘random wanker’ treated me. It’s not right and it’s not normal to be afraid of your own dad!”

“ _I know it’s not normal!_ ” Adam shouted. “Fuck!” He turned away suddenly, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He took a few shaky breaths and continued in a voice Eric had to strain to hear. “I’m saying that’s just the way it is for me. That’s the way _he_ _is_.” Adam turned back to Eric, his face red and eyes teary. “It’s not a new, fucked up thing that happened-- it’s my whole life. That’s it, so can we please just let it go?” Adam stared at Eric, his chest heaving still. They stood there, breathing and staring for a minute until Adam flinched, so suddenly that Eric also jumped, and looked up at the sky. He swiped a finger across his brow and looked down at it. “It’s raining. We should go,” Adam said so casually that Eric was stunned at the contrast to their almost-shouting match five seconds earlier. Adam turned and made to begin walking before Eric’s hand on his elbow stilled him. He didn’t turn back to Eric, but he did wait. 

“We can drop it,” Eric said in a voice as quiet as Adam’s had been, “but you don’t deserve it, being hurt. You deserve to feel safe. Ok?” Adam turned his head just enough to catch Eric’s eye from the corner of his own and gave a small nod. “Ok,” Eric breathed and slid his hand down Adam’s arm to hold his hand again. 

As they ambled back to Eric’s the sky broke, letting down an uncharacteristically heavy rain. They maintained their slow pace and the silence that they’d had on their way to the park, for the most part. About half way through, Adam tilted his head to Eric and mostly whispered “I’m sorry for shouting.” Eric just squeezed his hand and pulled him a little closer.

Eventually they came to a stop at the top of Eric’s house’s walkway. Adam laid a soft kiss on Eric’s mouth and pulled away, ready to say goodbye. Eric cut him off before he could get a word out of his mouth. 

“You should stay for dinner.” Adam frowned-- not the reaction Eric was hoping for, but he plowed on. “I’ll ask my mom not to say anything. It’ll be nice to have you over, please.” He laid a hand on Adam’s chest, over his soaking denim jack. “And your clothes are all wet. You’ll get sick walking home like this.” Eric looked at Adam determinedly, and Adam couldn’t help but nod in confirmation.

It was worth it, to him, seeing the grin crack over Eric’s face after such a long day of frowning.


End file.
